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by MakeSadieStop



Series: Nothing Hurts [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Basically Gaara trembles at every touch, Existential Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, I cried while writing this I s2g, Kissing, M/M, Vivid Sensual Description, i love them, isn't that precious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 04:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11154621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MakeSadieStop/pseuds/MakeSadieStop
Summary: Naruto becomes Hokage, finally, and Gaara has an excuse to take him out for a drink. But not before he contemplates his existence. Because it's Gaara. (Thankfully, that's one thing Naruto loves about him.)





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Gaara wants to know why it still _hurts_.

He stands before the mirror, head bowed towards his right fist, clenched and clasped over his chest. _Here_. Where it hurts, always hurts. But still doesn’t bleed.

He wonders if his reflection is what Yashamaru saw, all those years ago, the day he’d confessed his wound of the heart. But then he dismisses it. Gaara is taller now, certainly. A mouth that is sterner, straighter, with no trembling lip. Green eyes that water no more, surrounding black rings that no longer inspire pity.

Those eyes flick up to the corner of his brow, and the rarest grim smile sets itself in certainty. No, this is not the boy that Yashamaru had consoled, not even the one he had attempted to kill. Because that boy had no proclamation burning on his face, carved in red with sand.

Gaara remembers what it meant, then. It was at once an embrace and a defiance. An embrace of Yashamaru’s last words, what he had thought for so long to be his mother’s last words. A defiance of the notion that his wounds had a cure. This meaning held true for six years of existence.

Until that meaning shattered, turning outward and not inward. Love for everyone, not only himself. Existence forever, so long as he loved and was loved. Being Kazekage, loving everyone in Sunagakure, fighting for everyone in Sunagakure—that was Gaara’s purpose. That purpose had carried him through the Fourth Great Ninja War. That purpose still carried him when it woke him each morning.

So _why_ does it still _hurt_?

He has to let go now. He’s going to tear his vest with the force of it. Gaara can’t afford to damage these clothes—they’re less conspicuous than the Kazekage garb, and if he asks to have them repaired, any privacy they may allow will be ruined.

More than that, it’s about time he stopped brooding. The mirror is for combing hair, not contemplating existence. He already did enough of that as a genin.

He’ll cover up the tattoo. Hide blood red with wine red. It’ll draw more attention, bring up more bad memories, if he doesn’t. It’s better this way.

Time to make good on his promise.

***

The bar is too loud for Gaara’s tastes, but it’ll have to do. He shouldn’t have been the one to pick, really. He’s never even been inside one, so how would he know which are best? It’s been nearly a year since his twenty-first birthday, but drinking has always seemed so pointless to him. The only sips of sake he’s ever taken were ceremonial, for diplomacy.

And so is this, really. He’s just greeting one of his peers on his first visit to the Sand as newly-appointed Kage. So what if it started as a personal appointment, set more than four years ago? It’s out of duty by now.

Only, it can’t be. It’s unofficial. Otherwise, Gaara would have brought an advisor, or at least a bodyguard. Kankuro and Temari have teased him about it, gently, but neither one ever seriously suggested accompanying him. Once the news had reached ears in the Sand, once their little brother first set out the notion, so tentatively, both of them seemed to have a sense that this meeting was meant to be private.

‘Intimate’ is the wrong word. Gaara refuses to think it.

He has closed his eyes by now, blindly running his thumb over the curve of the ceramic cup set before him, over and over. It isn’t hard to focus in this way. The cool touch of clay stirs something within him that drowns out the noise. The connection makes sense. It was sand, once. Unite sand with fire, and it becomes smooth.

Smooth. As Gaara imagines skin must be.

The abrupt scrape of the stool beside him jerks him out of this reverie. His start, the snap open of his eyelids, is instantly rejoined by a far louder sound.

Laughter. He knows this laugh anywhere.

“You didn’t start without me, did you, raccoon eyes?”

His voice is the same. Deeper, of course, it must be after such time. But the same insistent clarity that cuts through all the surrounding guffaws. The same . . . _Earnestness_. That’s the only word Gaara can think of for it. Even when he’s half-teasing, there’s no ninja alive this _earnest_.

How did the sealing jutsu, with which Gaara’s own existence began, birth an individual so far from him? He has no idea. But even after almost a decade, he can’t help fading off into a daze trying to figure it out. Such a daze that Uzumaki Naruto has to poke him on the forehead before he remembers where he is.

“Is the Kazekage already drunk? C’mon, I thought you were better at the prohibitions than this.”

“I asked for the cup,” Gaara manages. He’s impressed that his voice doesn’t squeak. Raspy as ever. “So we wouldn’t need to wait.”

He doesn’t bring up any of the rumors surrounding Naruto himself, that he’s not always so great at avoiding money or drink as the shinobi code demands. Mostly, Gaara refuses to think about that last unmentioned prohibition in connection with _him_.

Either Naruto is grateful for the omission, or he hasn’t even thought about it. The second, probably. Such spirited _innocence_ , even if you wouldn’t know it from his jutsu repertoire.

“Aw, that’s really nice of—hey, what’s up with your hair?”

That’s ironic. _Naruto_ is the one who styles his hair to stick straight up, even if it’s shorter now. But Gaara knows what he means.

“I combed it down, to disguise myself.”

“No, no, that’s all wrong. It’s supposed to stick up and out all crazy. Ya know, the tousled-insomniac look.”

“I’m not an insomniac,” Gaara protests—because he’s not, not since they pulled Shukaku out of him. But Naruto’s already started to finger-tease his hair out into its usual erratic spikes. His opposite forefinger hasn’t yet moved from its poking posture, though. Is that one point of pressure meant to stop Gaara’s entire body from squirming?

He supposes that it’s working. Though he can nearly feel the shiver coming on, he’s effectively immobilized. Some new jutsu?

Naruto stops for long enough to squint at his handiwork, cocking his head from side to side. With a pleased “ah!” as he sees what must be missing, he tucks the last hanging strands of choppy red behind Gaara’s ear. It’s a mystery as to why until the burning starts. Warm, inescapable, tracing the kanji around and around. The motion could almost be called absentminded, if you didn’t pay attention to the round blue focus trained right on it.

Skin, as it turns out, does not feel in the slightest like ceramic.

“This is a meeting for old friends, right?” Naruto drops his hand, and Gaara remembers how to breathe. “So we should look like ourselves. All these Sand geezers are too far gone to care or even _notice_ that two of the Gokage are sitting right in the middle of ‘em.”

“That reminds me. I haven’t congratulated you yet.”

“We’re not here for congratulations! We’re here to share a drink, remember? The drink _is_ the congratulations. Shut your mouth.”

“It’ll be hard to drink if I do that.”

“Shikamaru catches me like that _all the time_ now. Do you really have to help him out?”

“Shikamaru’s your advisor?”

“Yeah, he’s cool. Too lazy to be Hokage himself, or so he says, anyway, but too smart to not help out. I thought you’d approve, since he and Temari are—ya know.”

“They’ve been beating each other up since the chunin exam. It’s hard to believe that it’s turned into this.”

“Hey, _we_ were beating each other up back in the chunin exam, weren’t we? And look where we are now!”

Gaara starts again. Naruto notices the silence, but (Gaara prays) not the blush.

“Well, if you’ve crawled back into your shell, maybe sake can bring you back out of it?”

Gaara wordlessly passes the cup over. When Naruto takes his sip, it’s surprisingly dainty. Delicate, perhaps, the first word is too insignificant. Polite, clean.

Perhaps the mantle of Hokage has made Uzumaki Naruto mellow.

***

‘He spoke too soon’ does not begin to cover it. Naruto’s reaction to Gaara’s suggestion of returning to his home for ramen is the earliest example, but certainly not the last. Naruto _leaps_ off his stool and _sprints_ out the door. It’s only when Gaara catches up to him that he slows down to ask an important question.

“Which way is your place again? You don’t work _and_ eat _AND_ sleep in the Kazekage Office, right?”

Gaara thinks this is an appropriate moment to chuckle—almost under his breath, covering his mouth as a precaution (since his full-bodied laughs has been known to signal psychotic breaks). The truth is, he spends more meals and nights in the office than out of it. It’s endearing that Naruto is so green to not realize this, that he doesn’t burst out laughing before the words can make it halfway out of his mouth.

Gaara cuts off an indignant “what’s so funny?” before it can truly begin. “I have a house. Just follow, _slowly_. Hands in your pockets.”

There’s much huffing about how “I need my hands to _talk_ , though” and “I know how to run _without_ my arms, this does _nothing_!” in the interim. But then they arrive at the door and Naruto’s hands free themselves with a dramatic flourish.

“Is your ramen instant? I know how to make instant.”

“Of course it’s instant. I’m a working man. But you’re the guest, I should prepare the food.”

“Why’d you offer dinner anyway? The drink was all you promised.”

Gaara does his best to appear incredibly occupied with what is really a very simple process of preparing two bowls of instant ramen. The truth is, he doesn’t know why. Is he worried that Naruto will be too drunk to walk to his inn without something to settle his stomach? That’s the most plausible story, so it’s the one he mumbles as he stirs.

“Makes sense,” Naruto decides as he sinks into the nearest kitchen table chair. “You’re really not into interior decorating, are you?”

Gaara presents a steaming bowl and chopsticks in lieu of an answer. Naruto snaps the sticks apart and digs in. After a long, noisy moment in which to survey his friend’s eating habits as one would a particularly fascinating train wreck, Gaara does the same, crouching to hunker over his bowl.

Naruto pauses to inhale air rather than noodles. “You’re not wearing your gourd. You can _sit_ and _enjoy_ your food like a normal human, ya know! C’mere.” He pats the seat of a conveniently adjacent chair.

“Habit,” Gaara offers as explanation. Then they eat in silence, aside from the slurping—volumes, of course, at opposite extremes.

It’s not long before Gaara has nearly finished, Naruto fidgeting in his seat as he waits. At that, Gaara smiles as much as he can, between his inflexible mouth and the noodles disappearing between his teeth. He really had spoken too soon. Not even this much has changed.

He wipes his mouth, stands, and holds out a hand expectantly. Within seconds, Gaara has stacked the dirty bowls in the sink on top of all the others. He’ll wash them once the workload lets up.

“Shouldn’t the Kazekage get his own housekeeper or something?”

“You mean Kankuro? He comes in here with a maid puppet twice per week.”

“A maid puppet? I should consult your brother for my ninja centerfold sometime.”

Gaara lets the running water replace the sound of his own voice. It’s polite to rinse dishes so food won’t stick, and that politeness can conceal the rudeness of an awkward silence.

“Did some killer kunoichi break your heart since we talked last? Because whenever I mention _anything_ resembling a girl _at all_ , even your sister or a _friggin’ transformation jutsu_ , it’s not too long before your mouth is shut up and upside down.”

“Break my heart?” Gaara wonders, so softly he hopes it won’t carry over the water. He’s never had to face that phrase directly, only hear it in passing to the tune of dramatic sighs.

“Yeah. In two. Ripped it out and stomped on it. Like killer kunoichi will do, ya know?”

“Sounds like . . .”

“Like?”

“Like it would _hurt_.”

“It doesn’t tickle, no.”

Gaara has to laugh now. A real laugh, the laugh that still makes his brother and sister flinch. A laugh that has him clutching at the sink so he won’t double over.

“No. No, it doesn’t.”

“Who is she? I don’t care if she’s a lady, I’ll clobber her!”

“That won’t help.”

“It’ll make you feel better! And if you feel better, I’ll feel better!”

“That’s not how Yashamaru said it works.”

“Yashamaru . . . ?”

“My uncle. The first person Father ever ordered to assassinate me.”

“ _Oh_.” Now Naruto needs to digest more than just ramen. “Why was he giving you advice on girls? You were six.”

“Not girls. _Love_.”

Naruto considers this for a long time—long enough that Gaara has sunk to his knees before the kitchen counter before he replies.

“What did Yashamaru have to say about love?”

At least he doesn’t sound like he wants to clobber anyone now. This is the softest Naruto’s voice has ever come out, at least in Gaara’s presence. Of course, Gaara’s strongest memories of him involve impassioned screaming, but that doesn’t diminish how _gentle_ he’s being.

“It’s a bothersome cure, but it’s the only one there is. For a . . .” Gaara searches for the phrase Naruto just taught him. “Broken heart.”

“And you have a broken heart? Gaara?”

It’s the first time tonight that Uzumaki Naruto has said his name. Gaara shudders so violently that he falls from his knees almost onto his face. He catches himself with his hands before any damage can be done, but by then there’s already a terrified Hokage crouched at his side and shaking his shoulder.

“What happened? What’s wrong? Did a plate break, did a shard cut you? Let me see your hands.”

Not only does Gaara turn his palms up, he turns his gaze and his whole body in the direction of Naruto’s . . . ear. If he has to address that _earnest_ and _innocent_ blue one more time tonight, his _heartbreak_ is going crack his ribcage open.

“Yes.”

He knew his voice had a rasp, but it’s never come out as a croak so feeble, so harsh. He sounds like a grandfather toad. One of Naruto’s toads.

“Alright.”

At least Naruto’s voice is still hushed, with respect to the centimeters apart that they are. But he sounds so _cheerful_. And—Gaara dares a peripheral glance at his face—he’s _smiling_. Grinning, even.

“Why . . .?”

Naruto’s _happy_? Now that he’s admitted to being broken? Gaara has never felt so betrayed, not since he’d pulled the veil from Yashamaru’s face.

“Well, your uncle said it, didn’t he? The cure is love. And that’s true, just cheesy.”

Gaara squeezes his eyes shut. He’s going to need to cover his ears next, if that doesn’t work.

“And he’s _also_ right that it’s _really_ hard to get any. But, well, I could help out with that, ya know?”

Gaara's fingertips have tapped his own earlobes when they freeze with shock at that. Before he can recover enough to let them drop and then demand an explanation, he finds that he couldn’t move them if he wanted to. His hands are on fire, an unmistakable finger pressing into the knob of each wristbone.

Skin feels nothing like ceramic. Ceramic is cold, skin is warm, warm is Naruto, Naruto is skin, warm skin is Naruto, Naruto is snapping and tingling and this must be a new jutsu. Gaara is mute, deaf, blind, and a thousand other things have left him leaving only _touch_ and _taste_ and _Naruto_ and what else is there? Breathing, Gaara is breathing, Naruto is breathing, Gaara is breathing Naruto and Naruto is breathing Gaara. Naruto’s heart is beating against Gaara’s heart, Naruto’s heart is beating, Gaara’s heart is beating, and as long as Naruto’s heart is beating Gaara’s heart won’t stop beating and _nothing hurts_.

**Author's Note:**

> !!! Okay but I've needed to write this for /so long/ you don't understand-  
>  Ahh, so basically, this is set four years after the end of the FGNW (just so Naruto can legally drink), inspired by the moment in volume 70 when Gaara says they should share a drink when Naruto becomes Hokage. It's based entirely and only on Shonen Jump's translation of the original manga. I haven't read the light novels yet, but when I do, I may go back and edit this to fit the continuity.  
> I tried to research Japanese customs related to drinking/eating to make this as authentic as possible--thus sake, ceramic cup, et cetera. If you're from Japan yourself, or Western but more knowledgeable than I am about their actual culture, I am so sorry that this is probably completely off! My intentions are honest and I'm open to any constructive criticisms which you may have :')  
> With that being said, though, this is my first legitimate fanfiction I've written for the Internet that wasn't entirely trash and I love this pairing with all my heart and soul so please be nice to my pure and angsty and insecure self-!!  
> In other news, this is intended to be the first of seven stories, and I, Sadie, look forward to your thoughts!  
> 


End file.
